


Scars

by groovyhedgehog (GroovyHedgehog)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GroovyHedgehog/pseuds/groovyhedgehog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's battle scar is a bit sensitive and Sherlock notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write Sherlock, so it was a bit odd for me. Sorry if he isn't very good. :(

They’ve both been upset. John’s been brooding over death again and Sherlock doesn’t like it when he gets into one of those moods. That night, Sherlock wordlessly pulls John onto his lap and John falls easily into an embrace, slides his arms around Sherlock’s neck, tucks his nose under Sherlock’s jaw, lets his fingers stroke the back of Sherlock’s neck and play with the curls at the nape. They remain, their bodies lingering close, silence falling thick, breath the only sound in the room until John’s lips brush accidentally against Sherlock’s neck. It feels nice and John, unthinking, kisses the skin, then kisses it again… And again. They’re slow, languid kisses, exploring, eliciting tiny noises that catch in Sherlock’s throat, but John refuses to think about it, only let the little noises drive him on as fuel, guide where his lips go.

His fingers dig gingerly into the skin on the back of Sherlock’s neck, holding him there, close and steady, until Sherlock pulls away without warning and stares at John with those dark, burning eyes of his. John shivers, throws Sherlock a little question with his bright eyes, but Sherlock ignores it and tugs at John’s jumper. John wastes no time, doesn’t even blush because he isn’t thinking about this. Because if he thinks the pain will come, the recognition that what they’re doing shouldn’t happen. But he doesn’t think. Instead, he pulls his jumper off, feels Sherlock’s eyes heavy on his body as his battle-scarred chest is exposed to the cold air. Before the jumper slides over his head, John feels Sherlock’s long fingers tracing the lines of John’s pelvic bones, just peeking out over the top of his jeans, and then trails up the crease of John’s stomach, follows the path where the more prominent scars lie. John feels so naked, vulnerable, weak, and for some reason he stays like that for a moment, jumper half off, pulled over his head, arms trapped there while Sherlock’s fingers observe.

When the jumper finally falls to the floor and John’s arms settle by his side again, Sherlock’s fingers find what they’d been waiting for—the dark scar splayed beneath John’s shoulder. John’s body shudders as Sherlock’s fingers trace the outline. A surge of raw _feeling_ courses through John’s veins and he grips Sherlock’s shirt to keep himself steady, straddling Sherlock’s lap. Sherlock smirks, leans close, lips grazing John’s ear.

“There’s nerve damage here,” he whispers. “Combat wound. Bullet by the size of the scar. It ripped clear through but left remnants in the tissue. I know there’s nerve damage that has left this arm weak. Your grip on my shirt tells me this. This hand grips weak and the other firm.”

John gasps as Sherlock’s finger digs into his skin there, massages, rubs, makes the dead feel alive again. Sherlock continues, murmurs the identity of the bullet, the gun, the circumstances surrounding the wound, the pace it healed, and when he’s done John moans a weak _“Incredible!”_ in the wake of the deduction. _Beautiful_ how Sherlock knows John without John saying a word. Talking about this is too strenuous for John. Too painful. But he didn’t have to tell Sherlock. Sherlock knew. John is grateful for this.

Sherlock pushes John down into the covers, kisses the scar again, memorizes every curve and dip with his tongue and lips and teeth and all John can do is _breathe_ and _oh god, don’t ever leave me._ Moans hitch in John’s throat, turn into whimpers that play on his lips, and for the first time in so long he feels like it all wasn’t meant for nothing… He found his purpose and it was right here, fitting so flawlessly against Sherlock, who doesn’t pity his scars… he’s devouring them.

When Sherlock breaks away, John catches his gaze, looks so hard into Sherlock’s eyes, breathless in awe, and kisses him. John inhales the breath now trapped between their mouths, traces the outline of Sherlock’s bow-shaped lips with his tongue and then nudges Sherlock’s lips apart to kiss him like Sherlock is his cocaine. His hands easily find the back of Sherlock’s neck again and dig into the spot that makes Sherlock’s body jerk. Pleased with this reaction, John sucks on Sherlock’s lip, chews hungrily on it with a little growl.


End file.
